Between Friends
by Hrlyqin
Summary: Tonight was NOT going to be another night at home reading fanfic for Molly, no sir. One shot, now with Torchwood cameo!


**BETWEEN FRIENDS by Hrlyqin**

**here is a disclaimer. witness it in bold. I own nothing. **

A night off was a rare thing for Molly Hooper. A night out was even rarer still. But she had been sitting in her favorite chair reading fanfiction when the idea that _this_ was her life became so alarming that she had decided to put one foot in front of the other and have an evening out on the town.

The first obstacle, what to wear, nearly did her in. Opening her closet, she saw that anything not work-antiseptic was decorated with either kittens or butterflies. Not exactly anything that said 'Here boy, come and get it!'. Sighing dejectedly, it had taken her an hour of trying various combinations before the right match of a black sweater and gray skirt didn't look quite so school-marmish as everything else. By the time she conquered the similiar challenges of hair and lipstick, it was nearly 10pm.

Taking some solace in the fact that her kitten had seemed very upset to see her go, she headed around the corner to the closest pub. It wasn't too fancy but the idea of a nightclub made her shudder...all those people...no, the tavern would do just fine.

It wasn't very crowded when she came in. Maybe half of the tables were full. Her first instinct was to retreat to an empty one in the corner but she figured well, what the heck, and took a spot at the busier bar where all but a few stools were occupied. Placing her small handbag daintily in front of her, she toyed with her napkin until the bartender made his way to her and she ordered an Amaretto Sour. Those always made her feel mysterious.

Drink in hand, Molly easily fell in to one of her habits, people watching. Since she was a little girl, she had loved to try and guess the stories of strangers around her. Where they came from, where they were going, where home was for them. As she got older, the game got to be less imagining princesses and heiresses hiding in plain sight and more about trying to find something in common with others. The man in the corner on his phone, for instance. He kept making calls, one after another, but he never said anything, just hung up and looked sad. Molly supposed he must have been stood up. He was dressed very nicely, he had obviously wanted to impress someone tonight. She certainly knew how he felt.

Not bad, she thought of her detection skills. Of course she was no Sherlo...no. Molly took a huge swig of alcohol and stopped that train in its tracks. She was not going to spend her night mooning over the S-word.

Maybe she could approach him, the stood-up stranger. Yes! She would buy him a drink, tell him it wasn't so bad. Maybe...maybe they could even be friends!...

She was just about to get up, had one foot on the floor in fact, when a polite voice asked her if the stool next to her was taken. She turned to a small asian woman standing on ceremony and told her to please sit down.

She immediately began to feel self-conscious. Was she as pretty as the other woman? Did Molly look worse now, sitting next to her? No handsome chaps were buying her drinks now, would any when they had two ladies to choose from? She was working her poor self-esteem in to a nice froth of anxiety when again, she mentally pinched herself. Day in and day out, she hoped someone (certain someones more than others) would look past the lab jacket and really see **her**, but here she was painting this stranger up to be some kind of temptress.

She hesitated, wanting to say something now but not knowing what. After a minute, she quietly spoke.

"I...I like your bag."

"Sorry, what?"

Too quietly maybe. "I like your bag." she repeated. It was nice, red with a black swirly design on it.

"Oh. Thank you. I like your...necklace. Are you a doctor?" she asked politely.

Molly had almost forgotten about it. The chain had a tiny caduceus dangling from it, a Christmas present from her Mom. "I'm a pathologist, over at St. Bartholomew's." She pointed in the general direction of the hospital, excited by the exchange of conversation. Was she doing well? She hoped so. "I'm Molly." she said shyly.

"Tosh." the woman replied, accepting her drink from the bartender. Molly thought she was saying thanks but no, that must be her name. Tosh.

Well, now that it was started, both women seemed determined to continue the conversation. Molly learned Tosh was visiting London, that she lived in Cardiff, and she had been driven out of her hotel room by boredom.

"I just couldn't stomach sitting alone all night watching Doctor Who reruns." she said.

"That doesn't sound so bad to me." Molly said, sipping her third drink. "I always had such a crush on Peter Davison."

Tosh giggled. She had put away a few as well. Molly liked her immensely. Immensely. She could sense they were very similiar. Normally, that made Molly feel sorry for the other person in the equation, but right now it was nice. "David Tennant wasn't so bad either." Tosh countered. "Do you have a boyfriend Molly?"

She nearly dropped her drink. She had managed to not even think about it, but now, she was flooded by the thought of a certain aloof genius. "Nope. No boyfriend here." she shook her head, trying to sound like she was pleased as punch about the fact. "I mean, I have a lot of...friends, that are boys."

After taking a moment to consider it, Tosh told her, "I know exactly what you mean."

Molly watched as she got her cell phone out of her bag, pushed a few buttons and then showed her a picture. "My friend Owen." she explained.

"He looks handsome." Molly said enviously.

"He IS. He's handsome and he's funny and he's smart..." she took a rather large drink. "...and he's brave and he's clever and if we didn't work together I think he would forget I was even alive." she finished clumsily.

"No, I bet he's just...shy." Molly tried to reassure her. Tosh shook her head so forcefully that Molly was worried she would fall off her stool. She now looked as miserable as the stood-up stranger.

"I have a friend. Well, he's not really a friend. A colleague maybe. His name is Sherlock." She stopped to look around, half expecting him to materialize at the sound of his name. "I think he's the smartest person I ever met, and he's so lovely. His mouth and his voice, it's nearly obscene, the things he could do. He's like a vampire, but not a good one, like a bad one in a good story...and sometimes he is so charming, he knows just what to say when he wants something. It's like he's a different person. If only he were really that person, all the time. I suppose I should stop letting him get my hopes up, but I do. Every time." She stopped herself, realizing how quickly her words had started to tumble out.

Tosh was quiet while she digested all of that. Then she reached over and clinked her glass with Molly's. A toast to love unrequited. "So, what can you do?" Tosh said, momentarily sharing the sorrow of her lot in life as a woman on her own.

"Well, I got a cat." she said, chuckling. At the moment, for reasons unknown, it was the funniest and saddest thing ever.

It wasn't until a few days later when Molly was emailing Tosh, telling her of her vow to swear off Amaretto, that she realized something. The entire time they had comiserated together, they had described their crushes in minute detail, right down to footwear preference. Sherlock was dark, intense, brilliant. Owen was wry, sexy and brooding. But neither Molly nor Tosh had used the word 'nice'. Not even once.

Now _that _was the saddest thing in the world.


End file.
